


Every night, pray the sun comes up

by Skadia



Series: To see the world as you do [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Damian needs all the therapists, Mentions of Rape, Multi, emotionnal abuse, graphic depiction of violence against women
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-12 15:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15997790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skadia/pseuds/Skadia
Summary: Catwoman went missing, and Batman blames himself for it.Robin has a plan that involves the entire League of Assasins, and old mistakes.It's Gala Season in Gotham City, and harvest time for crime and redemption.Because trust goes both ways, a story about second chances found in unexpected ways.





	1. I might need your help

“ _You can't change the world alone.”_

“ _Watch me kiddo.”_

 

¤¤

 

The last day of summer ended weeks ago taking with it the hope of a clear sky for the next four to six months. The city has her winter clothes: belt of fog around the docks, ribbons of shiny lights in Burnside, necklaces of smoke above Blüdhaven, hairs of rain and a dress of darkness from dawn till dusk.

Batman crouches on a gargoyle of Gotham old cathedral, up above the streets, and watches the city, strangely at peace. He can feel the city's heart pulse along the sound of klaxons, sirens, and the faint echoe of conversations between friends and lovers. He can see her live like watching a newborn sleep.

And he can hear the rustle of a cape behind him. He doesn't bat an eyelash when Superman sits next to him, his cloak and his feet hanging above the street.

“Quiet night ?” He asks softly.

Batman nods.

“No trouble in Metropolis ?”

Superman shakes his head.

They stay in silence.

It's peacefull and cold.

“There's a change of plan about the interviews next week. Lois won't do them. They put a rookie on the Wayne case this year” Superman says after a few minute. “You should brace yourself for the next weeks.”

“Sometimes, I envy you.” Batman answers. “Most times I would hate to do your job.”

“Many of us wonders how the hell they're still alive.” Superman smiles. “Especialy during Gala season. And fashion week. There's not enough international crisis to cover to make up for twenty minutes interviewing a Wayne.”

Batman smirks under his hood.

“You know, Red Robin is not a church going boy. Or a temple going boy. But I can hear him praying every god he knows from here that an international crisis happens in the next week.”

Superman chuckles. “He called Wonder Woman yesterday. Asking her to break his leg or ask Hera to send some cataclysm his way.”

“Did he really do that ?”

“Oh yes he did.”

“Did she agree?”

“No. But she said she'll glady be your plus one at the gala.”

There's always a moment between them where the limit between their identities becomes foggy. There's always a moment where there's a little of Bruce under Batman's armor. Always a little of farmboy Clark under the shiny S... Lately, this line got blured every night a little more.

It's no the most comfortable place, but it makes Bruce feel calm. Known. Safe. Which is worying. Because no good thing comes out of feeling safe and secure.

“Clayface is in the wild.” Batman says after a moment, raising steadily on his feet. “Mind helping me track him before he robs nine banks ?”

Superman smiles and floats next to Batman, extending his hand. Batman grunts and fires his grappling hook before jumping in the air. Clark rolls his eyes.

They're both smiling.

 

**

Damian frowns as he sees his research not returning any result on any of the batcave servers. It's his fifth search, he found hidden files, secret hard drives, countless of encrytped data, but nothing relevant to what he's looking for.

He sighs and slouches on his chair.

“This makes no sense at all...” He groans upset. “It's been one month...”. He picks up a drawing on the desk, like it's a device that could magically make him speak to somoeone else than himself. “Told him about you one month ago and he made no research … what did I miss ?”

The woman he drew years ago doesn't answer. He got her nose wrong. He notices it every time he looks at the portrait. And probably her scared smirk too. He remembers the fine lines around the corner of her mouth from long ago. She used to smile a lot.

“What did I miss...” he whispers to himself. “What's the missing piece...”

It strikes him in a flash. It makes him cold on the inside, as he types his own name in the searching tool he engineered. Then Dick, then Drake...

No file. No data. Nothing.

There's a file about Jason but it begins one year after his death. And a file about Red hood that's just a list of his activities...

Nothing on Barbara. Just a simple folder for Kate. Nothing on Cassandra or Stephanie.

“Sloppy.” he grunts. “Father is never that sloppy...”

He looks back at the drawing.

“What does that mean ?”

 

 

**

Relationship goal achieved.

Dicke smiles as he kisses Kori, trying and failing not to touch her skin as he wraps his arms around her. Her dress is surprisingly impressive while not covering her very much. She acts like half her brain cells have fried and her hair are wet with the polluted rain of Bludhaven.

Half the police station is dead silent, the second half is buzzin with rumors.

He frows when they tear apart.

“You came all the way from Gotham in... Heels ?”

“Took a taxi honey!”

She never gives him pet names, in any other circumstance this would be a signal between them, but this is just a fun and stupid act she agreed to play with him.

A lot is said, printed, murmured about Dick Grayson. Why he disappeared for almost a year. Why the heir of an immense fortune would give it all up and buy a circus. Why he would become a cop. How he managed to date a top model. Is this even true ? What do we know about this guy anyway ?

And so on until he can no longer pretend to ignore the rumors and the sarcasms surrounding him. Not that he cares, he actually thinks it's rather funny.

But nothing is funnier than watching people drown in their theories once in a while. So he told Kori two days ago, just after asking her to be his date for the Wayne foundation charity Gala due a few days later.

And there she is, taking up way more space than a woman her stature should, posing for selfies in a designer dress (Valentino? Guccci ? No. Not enough flowers for Gucci. Dick thinks.) that propably costs three months of his salary. Talking to Officer McDumbass (as Dick renamed him after his nth sexist joke.), pretending to be fascinated by the work trying to get done here.

“Should I call the press ?” Dick asks. He sits on his desk, arms crossed as she smiles and waves at his superior.

“You don't mind me borrowing your officer I hope ?” She says, gripping his arm. “His work hours are done and I really need an evening with my boyfriend.”

McDumbass grins and babbles something about not wanting to step a foot in his cops private life and so on...

Whistles, laughers and roling eyes follow them on the street and Dick almost jumps in the air with excitement.

“You know, I've never left this building at the hour I was supposed to since I started working here !”

“All it took was an excruciating half hour in an unpractical dress, talking to people I'd probably don't like.” She grins.

“You don't know them.”

“I know they make fun of you without knowing you. And I hate that.” She grips his arm, negociating the precarious walk between the cracks on the concrete ground in her heels. “Should have brought flats.”

“You hate when people make fun of me ?” Dick asks.

Kori doesn't have time to respond because his cellphone rings at that moment. He answers with an apologetic smile.

“I might need your assistance Richard”

 

¤¤

Bruce can hear Tim figeting behind him instead of training in the mats of the Batcave.

“Something you'd like to talk about ?” he asks his eyes still glued to the computer screen. He almost bets against himself how long it will take Clayface to escape from Black Gate this time.

“Do I really need to go to the gala ?” Tim asks.

“Are you part of the Wayne family ?”

“Hum.”

“Then you have to go.” Bruce replies. “We've been over that Tim.”

“No one cares if I'm there or not. I'm just and intern in this business.”

Bruce turns his chair toward Tim. The kid stands fists clenched, lips a fine line under eyes that seems bluer because of the slight redness surounding the iris.

“You've been neglecting sleep again.” He states.

Tim can see in his features that Bruce is making a mental note to check on him more often and it makes him angry for no reason.

“Not the topic Bruce.” He groans.

Bruce sighs and returns to his report. “Conner will miss you if you're not here.”

“You invited Conner ?”

“I did. He was upset that you did not decide yourself to ask him.” Tim doesn't make a sound and Bruce turns his head toward him with a quizzical look.

“How do you...”

“He told Mrs Kent who told Clark who told me.”

“Is privacy too much to ask ?” Tim grunts. He finally takes a sit next to Bruce.

“I'd like you to acknowledge the efforts I make to give you some.”

Tim smiles. “ I do acknowledge them. Thank you by the way...”

“Something you'd like to talk about ?” Bruce asks again.

Tim manages to fidget on his seat. “ It was awkward to ask him because I don't know... about Wayne's industries... y'know...”

Bruce frowns. “ No, I don't know. Mind to enlight me ?”

“This event is big Bruce... Big for The WE press relation, for it's public image ...”

“And you though about not inviting your boyfriend because ?”

“You know why !”

Bruce stays silent for ten long seconds and when he talks again it's with a paternalist tone that should be more upseting than it actually is.

“Wayne enterprise has a policy of inclusion and openness. We do not discriminize against any gender, religion, etnicity or sexual orientation. You're part of this family and you will come at this event. Alone, or with whoever you want it's up to you. Coming with your boyfriend would be a political statement that can only do good for our image, and this does not suffer any other discussion. Do I make myself clear ?”

Tim blinks once at the tone of his mentor (strike that, father.) and once more because he's not going to cry ! Then he nods.

“Crystal clear... sir.” he adds with a smirk. Bruce smiles too. And the subject is close.

 

##

“You know, Tim is better at this stuff than I am.” Dick says.

“Drake is not as trustworthy as I'd like at the moment.”

This is a rather harsh statement, but Dick thinks to himself that it's already better than what it used to be between Damian and Tim.

It's quite early at night for them and Bruce is still on patrol. They are alone in the Batcave and Dick is racking his brain to find new ways to crack into one of the best computers in the world. Yes, bribing Alfred briefly crossed his mind.

He tries, again and again, every file, every codename he can think of, every secret hard drive, every possibility, there is nothing he can find in this computer.

“If he has files on us, it's in his head, kiddo.” He finally says, stretching on his seat after hours of researches. Next to him, Damian crouches on his own chair, arms wrappd around his knees, frowning.

“He's more carefull than that. His head is a secure place, but not enough !”

“It's still more secure than a computer that any teen he knows can hack.” Dick smiles.

“It doesn't make sense Grayson ! Why would he not have any file about who he works with ?”

“Because I trust all of you.”

Neither of them startles because they have training, not because they did not hear the Batman come in. He crosses the Batcave, heavy footsteps, heavy boots and shoulders so low it hurts. He takes off the cowl when he's next to his sons. There's a nasty cut on his chin and a new bruise on his jaw that will need a lot of foundation to cover in the next few days.

“Should I be worried that you do not trust me enough to just... ask ?”

Damian lowers his eyes, Dick fights the urge to feel guilty at Bruce defeated tone.

“Rough night ?”

Bruce nods. He sits on an empty chair, peeling himself out of his armor and undershirt, all in complete silence that feels heavier by the minute.

“Would you provide the information if I asked ?” Damian finally asks. He looks at his father in the eyes, defiant.

“Yes.” Bruce crouches to Damian level, not touching him. He looks tired, his face is pale, sweaty. The heavy black scene makeup he wears under the cowl runs down his chin, he feels beaten down, he wants to sleep and knows he won't get any rest tonight. “I would provide it unless it's something that might hurt you.”

“Who's the Head of the League of Assassins.” Damian asks bluntly.

“That's what you were searching ?” Dick pipes with a surprised tone.

“Yes. And I found nothing.” Damian lets a few seconds passe between his father and him, looking at the face that's not yet totally familiar. “I told you about her a month ago. Didn't you do any researches ?”

Bruce shakes his head. “Trust me, it took a lot of willpower not to run down there myself. You said you'd handle it, that she was not a threat and I trust you son. I trust you to handle it or ask for help if you need it.” He glances at Dick from the corner of his eyes and smiles weakly. “I might need some myself.”

Then he passes out.

 

##

“Very dramatic of you Bruce.”

“Not on purpose. For once.” Bruce smile. Smiling hurt and his heart pounds in his head. His throat feels like sandpaper.

He woke up in his bed, his leg patched, an almost empty pouch of blood dangling from a single nail on the wall behind his bed, and Clark sitting on the chair next to him.

“What happened ?”

Bruce sighs, tries to find a more comfortable position on the cushions. It's still night time, the bed feels soft, his head spins slightly when he closes his eyes.

“Followed a lead on Catwoman. An empty one.”

“Leads don't shoot bullets.” Clark states dryly.

“Penguin's men do. I couldn't dodge all of them.”

Clark sighs too.

“Will you admit that she doesn't want to be found ?”

“I've admitted that weeks ago.” Bruce sits slowly on the bed, groaning when it pulls on new stiches on his leg. “Along with the fact that she's hiding from me because I was a stupid fuck with a temper.”

“Your kid was endangered. And you did nothing to hurt her. She'll come back eventually, stop hurting yourself looking for her ! It's been months Bruce, and it's getting dangerously close to a new obsession.”

Bruce sighs, his head hurt now, he pulls at his hair to alleviate the pain a little, and also to show his frustration.

“I feel guilty Clark.”

The matress dips under Clar'ks weight and the kryptonian wraps an arm around Bruce shoulder. He's warm and soft and everything Bruce feels like he doesn't deserve. But he craves it, he craves Clark touch, his voice lying to him, telling him that everything will be okay when he knows things just started going downhill. Bruce knows it, he feels it in his guts. He's the greatest detective in the world, and he can't find a single woman, he's down to guessing stuff from the bad feeling he has. There is nothing rationnal for him tonight, nothing except the sturdy presence of Clark.

“I know you do. But dead men can't right their wrongs.”

Clark wraps his other arm around Bruce, like a blanket, like a cape of serenity and peace. And Bruce closes his eyes, because the sight only dulls the smell of Clark, the touch of Clark, and Bruce needs it all tonight. He needs comfort and he doesn't even know from what.

“Take care of yourself Bruce.”

“I have you for that.”

It's lame. It's also false because Bruce doesn't count on anyone except himself. Help is nice when he gets it, but he never counts on it, never plan with it. Bruce takes care of himself since the day he was old enough to be let out of Alfred's sight ( actually slightly before).

It's lame but it's also true. He has clark to take care of him when he can't do it himself. And Alfred, and Dick. And once upon a time, he could Count on Selina too.

Before he pushed her away.

“Yeah, you have me.” Clark whispers, his chin on the junction between bruce neck and shoulder, rocking him slightly like he knows where his mind has been wandering. “You have me.”

 

##

“ _In here I make the rules.”_

“ _Out there you're nothing but a lonely kid with a fucked up family!”_

_He punches her, harder than any kid should be able to._

“ _The next word about my family will be your last one woman!”_

 


	2. Born in wealth

  
“Tell me again why you needed me? “ Dick asks.  
“Because there is a possibility that a thousand assassins try to kill me. And I can't handle all of them by myself.”   
“Shocking...”   
The batplane is on autopilot and the flight to Nanda Parbat leaves them with hours to kill. Or hours to make Damian spit out why this trip was needed. So Dick crosses his arms and waits for explanations.   
“I think the League has resources that can help us find Catwoman.”  
Disk sighs. “She's hiding for a reason, Damian! What makes you think she needs to be found ?”  
“It's Gala season.”  
Dick nods. He's well aware that fall is the season for charity galas. He spent most of his teenage years trying to avoid them and quite sometimes pretending to be charmed by old ladies willing to sell their jewelry to help some Wayne Foundation orphanage.   
“She's a thief,” Damian explains slowly like he's suddenly doubting Dick's intellect. “And charity galas are the place where you can steal the most precious stuff since everyone here is showing off jewelry and expensive art ...”  
“And no sign of her so far. Either she became incredibly careful or she's not hiding...”  
Damian nods. Thinking about it, it makes sense, in a strange way, it makes sense. Plus, Dick trusts Damian's instinct... sometimes.   
“So, you think she's been … what... Abducted ?”  
“Or worse,” Damian replies.   
“Why do you care ?”   
“Because Father cares. Lately, he's been going to extreme lengths to find a trace of her. It's putting him in danger.”   
“And involving the league of assassins is clearly the most secure thing to do.”  
Damian shoots him a dirty look.   
“It's a bold move. There are a 50% chances that they try to kill us. But if they don't, if the new head of the league is by our side, it's a thousand highly skilled ninjas that can track her all over the world.”  
They don't say a word as the plane goes into some turbulence that makes Dick's stomach clench. He likes flying, he likes seeing the open sky by the thick windshield of the plane, he likes being focused on the commands. But turbulences always remind him that flying might involve falling, and falling inside a mechanical bird made of tons of metal is not as fun as falling by himself between buildings where he can find something to grab and save his life.   
“Who's the new head of the League ?” He asks, trying to distract himself from his train of thoughts.   
“By the League laws, a woman who was supposed to be my wife. Or something close to.”  
Dick chokes on his saliva, cough a few times, tears in his eyes as he tries to breathe through his nose. For once, Damian did not try to physically harm him but it's the closest this kid has been to kill him.   
“What the hell ?” he groans. Damian smirk. “You're ten, you can't have a girlfriend, let alone a wife !” He says, half trying to convince himself more than the kid that looks at him, not trying a single thing to pull him out of his state of shock. Somehow, dick knows the kid is deadly serious.   
“Her life is mine to give and take by the League standards. That makes her my property. In our world, this is the closest as being what you call a spouse.”   
Dick frowns. “ What century are you from? People don't own other people! That's slavery.”   
Damian smirks. “This is what she used to say.”

##  
 _She was born in wealth, in one of the most incredible cities in the world. There is nothing more to this story for the first fifteen years. A rich girl growing up in private schools and over the top parties in Dubai._  
 _It would be nice to say that she was not always a spoiled brat, that she always cared for people, but it would be a lie._  
 _She never knew or cared about what others had to deal with until her sixteen birthday._  
 _she remembers it as the day she decided she would change the world._  
 _Because she was born in wealth and grew up in a world where money is power._  
##

  
“We named her Feather,” Damian says. He recollects memories that he consciously kept away from his mind for years. “I never knew her real name. Only that she's from a wealthy family in Dubai and found herself in a Tibetan village on a charity mission when the ninjas of the league came to take their tribute.”  
“Tribute? What is that, the Hunger Games ?”   
“How do you think we find the money and resources we need to function ?”  
“Terrorism, robbery, traffic... do I look like I care ?” It's a lie. He cares, he made extensive researches about the League, he has a file stored in his own cave under Wayne Tower. He has files on everyone including the people he loves. They are the first he made files about. Because Richard Grayson is not Bruce Wayne, he shows trust, but he covers himself. Batman is not Nightwing, his way of showing trust is by not covering himself.   
There's a reason why at Dick's age, Bruce had a surrogate kid, and Dick himself only has cacti.   
“ We protect people, and People pay us … it's a part of how we work. Also, we have dealt with a lot of politicians but this is beside the point. In this case, the ninjas protect small villages in the mountains in exchange for some food, occasional shelter and workers.”  
“Workers ?” Dick feels like Damian is talking a language he does not master.   
“Someone has to do the chores while ninjas train. Consider them servants. That's what I did all my life before they brought Feather in.”

##  
 _It was cold and moving fast was difficult due to the lack of oxygen this high in the mountains. She got used to it after a few days, could speak the language a little and be actually helpful in a few weeks._  
 _Years of working in the humanitarian field taught her that most people around the world never relied on the donations of rich folks to live their lives. What started out as a way to change the world when she was younger turned into a way to change herself and her point of view. Nowadays, she was on charity galas a few months a year, telling her stories to people only looking for a way to feel better about themselves and an easy way to pretend as they cared about other people. The rest of the year was spent living with people in need, learning about their struggles and bring them what they needed. Because sherpas don't need instant noodles or notebooks, and homeless people in America don't need prayers._  
 _She knew what water can cost in some areas, the extent people can go to survive, she thought nothing could surprise her after a few years going from refugees camp to nomad villages. She was wrong._  
 _It took her four months, to bring enough money and equipment to dig a well on this village so high in the mountains, that sometimes the entire surrounding was clouds only. By that time, she was no longer a curiosity on the village. She was still a stranger, but a known one at least. Known well enough to get some explanations about the stories the adults told to the kids so they would behave._  
 _“Fire is dangerous unless you're a demon man.” “Don't tease the horses or the demon kid will come for you.”_  
 _She heard the saying a few times before she understood them, and the little kids had fear in their eyes when they were told about the demon kid._  
 _“Who's that demon kid ?” she asked one day, half joking, expecting an answer about ancient legends, but she just got a serious look and a dreadful answer._  
 _“They live in Nanda Parbat, secluded, The old demon has been old for generations. His daughter is cruel, and her kid is worse. They protect us and they take our women.”_  
 _“Protect you from what ?”_  
 _“People like you. The bad ones.”_  
 _“Should I live... Am I not welcome anymore ?”_  
 _The old woman looked at her, dark eyes in a tan wrinkled face and blinked. “You are welcome. But pray your god to never see the demon men. And pray even harder that you never meet the demon kid.”_  
 _A demon kid._  
 _Demon men taking women._  
 _This was nonsense and superstitions. It couldn't be anything else. She tried to forget about it. Until one day, the Demons came._

_##_

  
“She was screaming when she was brought to my Grandfather,” Damian says. He's sharing his memories out loud, as quick and concise as he can. “Saying that she was important, rich, that we had no right over her.” He snorts mockingly. “ My mother made sure she knew how insignificant she was for us. And Grandfather named her Feather because she was really light.”  
Clean and concise to mask that the real story probably involved more abuse and blood than actual words. Dick clenches his teeth. Not at Damian, but at what the Al Ghul made of what should have been a home, a family for him.   
“How old...”  
“She was Twenty something at the time. I was like... Eight.”   
“No offense kid, but... Do I want to know how you ended up thinking you own her in any way ?”  
“You want to know.” Damian states. He clicks his tongue and crosses his arms, eyes on the landscape that rapidly flies under them. “But you won't like the story.”

  
##

Life in _Nanda Parbat was probably way worse for the ninjas in training than for her, Feather thinks everytime something bad happens. And it happens frequently. Almost every night. Sometimes at random times of the day._  
 _Raz Al Ghul took a special interest in her, and she had quickly discovered that it meant no one dared to touch her. But it was not the same for the other women. It was part of the status, part of what it meant to be a woman in this wooden feodal hell. Along with the domestic chores, living in what Feather renamed the Harem as soon as she entered it, daily visits from the ninjas were part of the package._  
 _She tried to fight back the first time, and the time after when a girl was taken, but the girls simply shook their heads and later asked her what was that all about?_  
 _It took Feather days to realize that it was ingrained in their minds that this was normal. It was not. It made her blood boil and filled her sleep with nightmares. It would soon happen to her she knew it and she dreaded it. The girls were unharmed, treated well. They lived in a spacious place with lots of light, silk and woolen covers, incense burning everywhere. It was straight out of an oriental fantasy. It made sense that this life was enjoyable for most of them._  
 _It made sense in a way._  
 _But not for her._  
 _Except for her chores she was free to wander around the citadel. Free to plan her escape and the harsh journey back to civilization. Free to plan how to come back and save these women. But that was an empty dream and she knew it._  
 _And there was the boy._  
 _She was free to watch ninjas training. And a few weeks were enough for her to realize that no one in this entire place was trained harder than Damian Al Ghul. The kid was an insufferable brat, eight years of rage and spite and everything that made her want to slap him twice a day._  
 _But eight years of what Feather could only label as abuse._  
 _Everything was a training for him. Every minute of every day was a lesson._  
 _Long ago, she thought that rich kids like he had to live up to crazy expectations. But it was nowhere near “survive in a three days blizzard without water or food or shelter at five years old” level of expectation._  
 _Sometimes, her chores led her to his study room. She had a degree in biology and she could barely guess what his lessons were about. Ph.D. level biology. Same probably applied to physics and other stuff. The kid did well. Well enough at least to not be punished ( “For your own good my beloved, you cannot give less than your best.” His mother would say. Feather hated this woman with every fiber of her being), but slower than he could. Just slightly slower than he could learn and Feather only realized it when, one day, she entered the room of Damian's private teacher to clean up and found it empty._  
 _No linen on the bed. The futon was gone along with every paper on the desk, the books, the clothes. Like someone had carefully removed all trace of his existence from the room._  
 _She startled when she heard Damian's voice behind her._  
 _“He had nothing to teach me anymore.”_  
 _She turned, frowning._  
 _“Did he go back home ?” She asked. She had a lump in her throat like every time she saw the kid. It was part fear and part pity. He was small, scrawny. His green eyes were sometimes bloodshot from lack of sleep, he always wore long pants and long sleeves that were never enough to cover all the bruises he got during training or missions. She had never seen him smile._  
 _“My mother killed him.”_  
 _There was no trace of emotion in his voice nor in his stance. He was studying her, eyes and face empty, creepy like these porcelain dolls in antique shops._  
 _“What.. You're kidding ...”_  
 _He did not move, didn't say a word and the lump in her throat fell into her stomach, she felt nauseous. She blinked, trying not to cry and she had no idea if it was because of shock or fear. When she came back to her senses, he was gone and the room was still empty but full of ghosts._   
##

“We talked after that,” Damian says. “Just a little here and there. She was terrified of me, but she hated my mother way more. It made her really protective of me.”  
“You must have hated that.” Dick point with a smirk. Damian dodges the hand that tries to ruffle his hair.   
“At first yes. Then I started to like it. Craved it sometimes. You know, it's good, sometimes, to have someone who doesn't ask any more of you than what you already are.”  
Damian is curled into a ball in his seat. His arms wrapped around his knees, feet on the seat, head bowed like the floor of the ship is the best thing he's seen today. It makes Dick's heart clench.   
“You started to like her.”   
Damian nods. “It was a bad idea, it endangered her and I knew it. And she knew it. And she did not care.”

##  
“ _I will escape this place, Damian.” She used to say. “With all the girls and you.”_  
 _“I belong here.”_  
 _It was the moment of the conversation where she used to smile. “So, you agree I take the girls away with me ?”_  
 _As everytime, he shrugged._  
 _“I don't care for them. As far as I'm concerned, they are a bunch of people to feed that could be discarded.”_  
 _“So many ninjas would disagree. Are they even trained to make their beds ?” she smiled. He liked her smile. It was genuine, sad and still slightly scared. Nothing like the smiles like blades that her mother had sometimes._  
 _“A thousand ninjas can do the chores of Nanda Parbat from day to day without the help of a bunch of women. Grandfather keeps them for their own sake. They have a better life here than in their village.”_  
 _Feather grunted mockingly._  
 _“Yeah, only because they know nothing better than slavery and mandatory rape! It's not a life Damian !”_  
 _“It is their life. And if you plan to get away with them, ask them first, they won't come with you. And neither will I.”_  
 _“Why? What keeps you here ?”_  
 _“I'm an Al Ghul, this is my place and my duty.”_  
 _He could see that she was sad even in the darkness of the corridor they were standing in._  
 _“You think that only because you don't know any better life than the abuse you take... OW...”_  
 _He had grabbed her hand and hit her as she tried to caress his cheek and his face was now a blank mask of anger._  
 _“The next word about my family will be your last one woman!”_  
 _She blinked away the tears of pain and confusion. Behind him, she saw a movement and one of Damian's nail dug in her skin hard enough to draw a little blood._  
 _Talia Al Ghul peacefully emerged from the darkness behind the kid and laid a hand on her son's shoulder._  
 _“I see you caught a traitor, my beloved.”_  
 _Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Feather with an expression of disgust. It felt like ice running through her veins and Feather bowed her head to her wrist still in Damian's grip._  
 _“Dami...”_  
 _“When you address my son, you do it with the respect he deserves.” Talia snapped._  
 _Feather tried to escape Damian's grip but the kid did not move a muscle._  
 _“ I warned you.” He said, his voice slightly lower than usual. “Being my grandfather favorite would not save you if someone less noble-minded than me discovered your plans.”_  
 _On his shoulder, his mother grip became stronger._  
 _“Are you saying I'm not magnanimous my son ?” Talia asked coldly._  
 _He smiled at her._  
 _“I'm saying you have a little more respect for rules than I do, Mother.”_  
 _Talia smiled. Through a haze of panic and pain, Feather noticed that it was a smile she never saw on that woman. Something keen, almost gentle. Then Talia turned her eyes back at her and she was back to her heartless self._  
 _“In the League of Assassins, traitors are punished by who discovered them.” She squeezed Damian shoulder again. “Go fetch your sword, my son. I'll bring this one to the council.”_  
 _##_

  
“Talia didn't know that you were … friends ?”  
“Are you kidding Grayson? If she knew, she would have killed Feather herself and hang her body above my bed.”  
Dick winces not sure if this is dry humor coming from Damian or if the kid is speaking the truth.   
“So? What happened ?”  
“I cut her throat open.”

##  
 _She was born into a rich family. She got the best education money can buy, and all the problems money can bring. Being abducted for ransom was a possibility that was not neglected so, she got self-defense courses on Saturday from her fourth birthday along with her dance lessons on Sunday. By the time she graduated, she had several belts in a few martial arts. It trained her body and her mind. It was one of the reasons why she never feared going on charity missions by herself. She knew she could handle most of what the world had to throw at her._  
 _But a council of assassins, one of them being probably a thousand years old was not what she was trained to fight._  
 _Neither was an eight years old killer with a sword as long as his arm. The ninjas had been woken up along with all the women of the Harem. Her execution was meant to be a lesson for everyone in Nanda Parbat and Feather knew it._  
 _She knew she had no chance of walking out of there alive._  
 _If she had anything left to puke, she would be puking right now, but her stomach clamped on nothing, she had nothing left in her to feel better, only an ugly fear that made her knees tremble and her teeth clasp against each other. She could not even speak or cry. She wished she was numb, or to faint, but was not graced any of it._  
 _Damian stood in front of her, both of them at the center of a court of the members of the League._  
 _“For betraying the League of Assassins, the sentence is death by the hand of who discovered your crime. Were you to win this fight, you could walk out of this room alive. But, for the crime of trying to deprive the League of its Heir, you will never be allowed to leave Nanda Parbat.”_  
 _He drew his sword and adopted a fighting stance._  
 _“Try to gain an honorable death.”_  
 _Feather had a sword too. A good one as far as she knew about blades. There was probably no bad weapon in this entire city. But the best sword would not save her from a child who had a duty and was raised to follow orders no matter what his personal motives might be._  
 _She raised her sword reflexively the first time, and the metallic clench of metal against metal startled her. She pushed against Damian who stepped back one step with a grin._  
 _“I'm sorry.” He mouthed before landing his second attack._  
 _Adrenaline and fear made Feather react quicker than she would be capable of in any other situation. It felt like she fought for hours, dodging hits, losing forces and focus until she fell flat on her back. Her head hit the concrete, it felt like lava going through her brain as pain exploded in her skull. She closed her eyes, out of breath, and only reopened them, full of tears when something sharp pressed on her throat._  
 _“The issue with traitors is that when they die, they tend to be seen as martyrs,” Damian said coldly, he pressed the end of his sword against Feather windpipe, hard enough that she didn't dare to swallow, she held her breath. “We do not make mùartyrs, we make examples.”_  
 _The blade cut through her skin, she did not feel a thing, only the beating of her blood on her head._  
 _He eyed the ninjas and the women scornfully._  
 _“This woman's sentence is mine to execute for her crime. This should cost her her life. Were she to survive my punishment, no one is to touch her or harm her in any way for her life is mine from now on.”_  
 _He took a deep breath, ignoring the voice of his mother and locked his eyes into the terrified dark one above him._  
 _“You better not move.”_  
 _The point of the blade slowly lowered on her neck, slightly to the left and he pushed._  
 _She arched, screamed, her vision went red then blank. Pain mixed with terror, she was suffocating, the rush of blood on her temple was not enough anymore to cover the sound of the awful gurgle coming from her. She felt blood on her mouth, on her tongue, she wanted to move, to spit. Blood on her sines..._  
 _“Let her be. No one is to help her. Don't let her get to the Pit. If she survives, she does it on her own.”_  
 _She felt weak, hollow, heavy._  
 _She closed her eyes wishing for the void to come and take her._

_##_

  
Dick doesn't say anything for the rest of the flight. He has the stern look he always gets when he doesn't know what the best reaction is.   
Damian uses the time to recollect himself.   
Feather survived. He left Nanda Parbat for a year of training a few days after and did not have a chance to see her. Things happened. A lot of bad stuff, and a lot of good stuff too. He grew up, he changed. He forgot about her for the most part of these five years. It was easy, there was so much going on...  
But seeing her again a few months ago, when he more or less decided for himself that she bled to death on that day … it awoke something in him. A guilt he didn't know he had. Guilty of having been caught by his mother, guilty of not standing up to her, guilty to have mutilated someone he started to care about because he couldn't find a better way to save her …   
Dick squeezes his shoulder, his palm is warm and his grip is strong.   
“It's gonna be fine.” He says.   
“You don't know that.”  
Dick smiles. “ Trust my experience Dami, when someone holds grudge against you, they don't wait years to come back at you. If she wanted a revenge, she would have had it the moment she became Head of the League.”  
Damian is not so sure about it, but Dick's confidence is something nice to rely on and he decides to believe him until circumstances prove them wrong. Under the batplane, snowy mountains come and go as they approach what was once his home. He knows these land forms, every peak and valley are familiar and yet strangers at the same times. It feels like he left a lifetime ago and a part of him is reminded that when you're thirteen, a few years might indeed be a lifetime.   
They take a slight turn to face the wind when the contours of Nanda Parbat are visible, and Dick lands the batplane smoothly on the wooden training arena circled by a U shaped building that is way too familiar to both of them. Not a lot of good memories there.   
They are already there, the ninjas. Probably two hundred of them. And archers on the towers and Damian knows how many are waiting behind the doors and the walls to reinforce them in case the strangers become a real threat.   
“They did not shoot the plane.” He states.   
“Good sign.” Dick nods. He fetches his domino and skin glue on his bag. “ Ready ?”  
Damian nods, pulls the hood of his cloak over his head and stands, trying to look more confident than he feels.   
It's cold outside. Nanda Parbat is too high on the mountain to ever get really warm. And the sight of enemies surrounding him doesn't make anything to make him feel welcome. He smirks. It's not an unusual feeling, being unwelcome somewhere feels almost like home.   
“I demand to see the Head of the League.” He shouts to countless nameless faces.   
She knows how to make an entrance, the soldiers stepping out of her way one by one as she walks toward him.   
What strikes Dick is how average she looks. How much she doesn't look like the leader of a terrorist army. She's average sized, slim, short black hair, black eyes, brown skin that the lack of sun made slightly dull. She wears what Dick labels as the basic training outfit of the assassins. The sword blade hung at her left hip seems custom made. There is nothing special about this girl except that she is young, probably Tim's age, and she wears a big scar on her neck like a jewel.   
Dick knows one thing or two about scars. He knows what the one he stitched himself looks like. He knows a bad healing process when he sees one. And this one can easily reach his top ten.   
She shoots him a glance and a light sign of the head and her eyes focus on Damian.   
The kid is tense.   
Feather doesn't talk. Of course, she doesn't. Dick is surprised she's even alive. By all means, she shouldn't. And he's smitten by how young she is.   
“The League of Assassins is my birthright.” Damian starts.   
Feather nods.   
“I reckon that with all the Al Ghul being missing, you took the Trials to earn your current status.”   
Feather nods again.   
“Did you kill every last one of your competitors?”  
Feather shakes her head and raises a hand. It takes Dick a few moves to realize she's signing in English sign language and catch up on what she's saying.   
“Don't kill when you can subdue.”   
Dick grins, he relaxes his defensive stance just a little.  
“But you killed.”   
Feather nods. Her lips are a fine pale line on her face, her jaws are clenched. “Had to. Some I didn't mean to.” her hands say.   
“You cared about innocents when we met. Do you still stand by these convictions ?” Damian says, his tone slightly more commanding than before.  
Feather nods.   
“Then, I came to require the help of the League.”  
There is a moment of tense silence, where every soul here holds their breath, waiting for her reply. A turning point where she can decide to deny her help and kill them or help them. She knows it, and when she smirks, the movement pulling on her scar, contorting it slightly, Dick realizes that this girl knows a lot about power.   
Or at least, she never labeled herself as powerless.   
“She was born in a family that believed that money is power.” Damian had said, “ this forges a special kind of people.”   
Dick has seen these people countless time growing up, always hated how they felt superior to everyone because of their money. But only now does he realize that Bruce Wayne is not the only one who turned this power into confidence and … something as good as can be.   
Feather's smirk becomes a smile and she opens her arms, bending her head slightly.   
Something in the air breaks, something in Damian breaks and, the next second, he's clutching at her, hard enough to leave bruises and he babbles a stream of questions and apologies that Feather doesn't answers.

##  
“Not quite sure I can explain what happened,” Dick says. “But there is now an entire terrorist organization looking for Catwoman.”   
He slouches on the comfortable armchair in front of the fireplace of the library in Wayne Manor. Across the table, Bruce looks concerned, looking for the millionth time at the file of Feather he now knows by heart.   
“Do you think she's a threat ?” He asks. It's not often that Bruce asks questions he doesn't have an answer for. Dick knows he already has an opinion about her, he just values Dick's intuition when it comes to people.   
“Yes.” Dick answers. “ She's a threat. But she means well.”  
“Which might be worse than if she had bad intentions.”   
Dick nods. There is still something bugging him and he leans forward to point at a drawing on the file. One that Damian did of Feather. Without the scar, and he got her smirk wrong, but he got her age wrong too. This woman looks old enough to be his mother.   
“He drew that last year, from memory. Maybe he added a few years to make it more accurate but you saw the footages from my costume the other day.” He says. “There is no way the woman in her twenties he met when he was eight to be that young looking today without going through the Pit.”  
Bruce nods, having come to this conclusion too.   
“He said he forbid everyone to let her use the Pit when he cut her throat open. And if she did at that time, she wouldn't sport a necklace of scars.” Dick says again. “Something happened after she healed from that wound. Months after.”  
“And she didn't tell what ?”  
Dick smiles. “She's mute Bruce. She can't even eat properly. As good as Damian is as harming without killing, he's not good enough to reach vocal chords without hurting the oesophagus and trachea in the process.”  
Bruce nods.   
“Why do you think she agreed to help him? Do you think she seeks revenge later ?”  
Dick shakes his head. “No. She … understands what he did.”  
“Good, because I don't.” Bruce groans. His head feels heavy from being focused and forcing himself to be impartial as Dick did his report for the last hour.   
“Talia wanted him to kill her. He made himself responsible for discovering her plan, responsible for her life and managed not to take it... The League has a code that makes you responsible for the life you don't take when you should. Whatever happens because of the ones you spare is on you. And that girl, Feather, she climbed her way to the top of the League. She knows the rules. She knows that Damian is sort of... responsible for her since that day. She won't do something against his will.”  
“There is something more.”  
Dick nods.   
“She wants to protect him. More than anything.”  
“How do you know that.”  
“You won't like what I'm about to say.”  
“Hit me with your best shot.”

##  
“This thing costs more than Ma's farm in Smallville !” Conner says while carefully hanging back the suit on a rack of expensive clothes.   
“If I may, Mister Kent, any expense will be on mister Wayne account.” The sales associates say obligingly.   
“Which one ?” Conner groans for himself. He doesn't like being treated like a gold digger, he likes the idea of dressing up even less. “This is ridiculous! The money spent on dressing up during these events could help many people... and they call that a charity gala when they spend more money partying than actually helping people!”   
Kori emerges from a dressing room in a green ballgown, hair tousled from trying on too many already. “You have a point. But this is also an event to remind people that Wayne industries are tied to the Wayne Foundation.”   
“Yeah, press relations move. Heard about it by mister “heir of the fucking world”.”  
Kori smiles at herself in the mirror. “Which one of the Wayne does that refer to ?”  
“All of them.”   
“Come on Conner, you can't go to this event in old jeans and leather jacket !” She smiles at the vendor complimenting her, already deciding on another dress that this one.   
“Why not ?”  
“Because Damian chose the charity this year. And you don't wear leather while collecting funds for an animal shelter!”   
Conner sighs. He regrets agreeing to go to this masquerade with Tim. He also regrets that it's so hard to admit that he wants to go for Tim. He feels tied and constricted in his own skin and he hates it.   
“Nice dress by the way. I know a few hundred people who will love it.”   
Kori makes a funny face at him in the mirror. “Keep being unpleasant and I'll dress you myself in something not flattering while your boyfriend will look stunning and you'll feel like a misplaced farmboy !” she threatens.   
“I AM a misplaced farmboy.”   
“Dress the part, and you'll be another one of these heirs of fucking everything,” she says turning to him. She has a warm smile as she forces him out of his jacket. “One of the perks of these events is leaving your date breathless when they see you.” She winks at him. “ And a few of the things that might happen during or after they catch their breath.”   
“Talking like a true lady.” Connor mocks.   
“You'll thank me.”

##  
She hasn't felt this good in months. She's on something warm, something soft surrounds her, and the sounds echo in her head like she's in the bottom of a well. Or drunk.   
Drunk...  
She hasn't had a drink in …   
Her throat is dry...  
Soft, warm.   
She hasn't felt this good since … it escapes her. The sounds get clearer. There is an annoying beep, as annoying as a ticking clock.   
“She's waking up.”   
yep, she is, not that she wants to, she can sense a light from behind her closed lids. Her throat is dry.   
“Another shot.”  
Warm, soft.   
She falls back to sleep.   
It's fine. Cats sleep for most of the day anyway.

 


End file.
